


i will take good care of you (still i will live here)

by ace_verity



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spooning, helena is the little spoon, not to me not if it's you, they are very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_verity/pseuds/ace_verity
Summary: Helena and Dinah, taking care of each other.
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 30
Kudos: 181
Collections: my favorite fanfics





	i will take good care of you (still i will live here)

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from ["I Will"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODPra5VxNLI) by Mitski. I recommend that you listen while you read. The order of the story's sections are based on the lyrics, so they don't necessarily happen in chronological order.
> 
> CW: mentions of PTSD (nightmares/dissociation), language, and violent imagery (canon-typical or less).

_I will take good care of you_

_I will take good care of you_

_Everything you feel is good_

“I didn’t know what kind of cough syrup to get, so I grabbed three different kinds. And the pharmacist recommended Ricola, but you put Halls on the list, so I got both. And they didn’t have the brand of tea you asked for, but there were a couple similar —”

“Helena.” Dinah grins up at her from the couch, where she’s been lying all morning with a tissue box in reach. “Did you completely clear out the shelves, or —”

“No,” Helena says defensively. “I just wanted to get it right.”

“I trust your judgment, alright? I’m sure whatever you bought is fine.” Dinah breaks off into a coughing fit, and Helena hovers anxiously over her, still laden down with grocery bags. 

Dinah waves her off once she’s caught her breath. “Go put that stuff away, I’m fine. _Seriously._ It’s just a cold, I’ll live.”

“Alright,” Helena says reluctantly. “I’ll make you some tea. With honey and lemon, right?”

“Right.” 

Helena nods determinedly and disappears into the kitchen, and Dinah lets her eyes drift closed. She hates being sick, hates it with a passion; she always fears, rather irrationally, that she’s one sore throat away from losing her powers completely. She’s always been an active person, even before joining the Birds, so getting knocked out by something like a virus drives her crazy. 

She probably could have powered through it, honestly; when she was working for Sionis and nearly living paycheck to paycheck, she would have done just that — gotten onstage no matter how deeply her muscles ached, praying that the ample amounts of cough drops and herbal tea she’d ingested would prevent her from losing her voice in the middle of a set. 

Dinah doesn’t have to worry about that, now. If she were still living on her own, she would have sucked it up and gone on with her life as usual. She’d tried to do just that, but as soon as an early-morning coughing fit had alerted Helena to Dinah’s condition, Helena had fussed over her in her own awkward yet well-intentioned way — hence Helena’s shopping spree.

“Tea’s ready,” Helena says, placing it in the coffee table within Dinah’s reach. “Do you need anything else? If you’re hungry, I can make some lunch. Whatever you want, uh, as long as we have the ingredients.”

“No, I’m alright.”

“Even if we don’t, I can go back to the store, I don’t mind —”

“Helena.” Dinah fixes her with a firm look, though she can’t stop herself from smiling. “I promise I’m fine.”

“I know.” Helena twists her hands nervously and looks away. “I just — I want to help. But I don’t know how. I mean, if I could fight someone, that’s different —”

“Come here,” Dinah breaks in gently, sitting up to make room for Helena on the couch and patting the empty cushion. Helena sits, stiffly at first, but relaxing when Dinah presses against her and leans her head on Helena’s shoulder.

“You’re doing a great job, babe,” Dinah tells her. “Seriously.”

Dinah feels, rather than sees, Helena nod. “If there’s anything you need —”

“Then I’ll ask.”

This seems to satisfy Helena, who says, “Good,” and drapes her arm over Dinah’s shoulders, rubbing circles on her arm unconsciously. 

“And right now,” Dinah says, “I need a distraction. Want to watch a movie with me?”

“I’d love to,” Helena says seriously, but there’s a tiny, pleased smile on her face.

With this kind of treatment, Dinah thinks, being sick might not be so bad after all.

_If you would only let you_

_I will wash your hair at night_

_And dry it off with care_

It doesn’t happen often, but even so, Dinah curses herself for not seeing the signs sooner. The anniversary is coming up — Renee had told her as much, warned her to be extra vigilant with Helena, but Dinah hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. 

Until now.

Helena’s on edge, even more so than usual, as they wait to ambush a drug trade down by the docks. 

“You okay?” Dinah murmurs, squeezing her hand, and Helena nods tersely. Dinah isn’t convinced, but there’s no time for further conversation — the traffickers have arrived, and Renee hisses at them to get in position. 

It’s a standard op, and a standard fight; by the end, they’re surrounded by prone bodies, police sirens are wailing faintly in the distance but getting louder by the minute, and Helena is standing rigid off to one side, gazing at the blood on her hands like she’s never seen it before. Even in the darkness of the warehouse, Dinah can see the glassiness of her eyes, the blankness of her face. She crosses to Helena’s side, careful not to startle her with sudden movements. 

“Helena, it’s me. Dinah. You with me?”

She doesn’t react, just stands frozen and unseeing, and she flinches a tiny bit when Dinah lays a hand on her arm, but doesn’t protest beyond that. 

“You need help getting her home?” Renee asks; she’s tense, and the sirens are getting closer and closer. 

“I can manage.” She’d driven her car, thank God; Helena had wanted to take her motorcycle, but some instinct had told Dinah that it was a bad idea.

Helena doesn’t speak or move throughout the short ride home, and Dinah white-knuckles the wheel the whole way. She knows that nobody escapes the kind of trauma Helena’s been through unscathed, and Helena’s no exception. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, because Helena’s kept up a front of stoicism for her whole life — but that’s surely part of the problem, and no facade can last forever. 

“We’re home, baby,” Dinah tells her softly once they pull into the alley next to their building. This time, Helena meets her eyes, just for a second, but it still floods Dinah with relief even though Helena doesn’t speak. She’s at least coming back to awareness, bit by bit — slow progress, but progress nonetheless. 

She leads Helena up the stairs and through the door; the most unsettling part of it all is Helena’s silent compliance, which stands at odds with her usual determined, stubbornly independent air.

“Can I take your boots off?” Dinah asks, waiting for Helena to nod before guiding her to the couch to sit down and unlacing the boots. She does the same with the rest of Helena’s gear — asking, and waiting for Helena’s nod before proceeding — until Helena’s wearing only a sports bra and pants, sitting on their couch, gaze vacant.

Her knuckles are still spattered with blood, and her hair is matted with sweat and grime from the fight. Helena always showers after a mission, hates the feel of going to bed dirty, so Dinah stands up, resting a hand on Helena’s shoulder. 

“Do you want to take a bath, babe?”

A nod.

“Is it alright if I help you?”

A nod, again.

“Okay.” Dinah runs a hand through Helena’s hair. “I’m gonna start the water, okay?”

Helena nods a third time, and Dinah moves quickly to the bathroom, not wanting to leave Helena alone for any longer than necessary. Once the tap is running, she fills a glass of water from the sink and offers it to Helena, who hasn’t moved.

“Drink some water for me, alright?”

Helena drinks half the glass, and Dinah takes it from her when she’s done. “Ready to get up?”

This time, Helena says, “Yeah,” so quietly that it’s almost inaudible, and stands unaided.

“I’ll turn around while you get in,” Dinah tells her, even though they’ve both seen each other naked more times than Dinah can count. She directs her gaze at the wall until she hears the water ripple, lapping at the sides of the tub, as Helena steps in. 

Dinah turns back around slowly, in case Helena stops her, and kneels beside the tub, picking up a plastic cup from the edge of the porcelain.

“I’m gonna do your hair first, okay?” Dinah discards her jacket, not wanting to get the sleeves wet, and fills the cup with water to pour over Helena’s hair. She pours with one hand and uses the other to comb out Helena’s dark curls, reaching for the shampoo after a moment. 

“Close your eyes, babe,” she says softly, not wanting to get soap in Helena’s eyes. Helena closes her eyes, tilting her head down to rest her chin on her chest, and she sighs when Dinah lathers the shampoo through her hair and leans into the touch. It’s a good sign, the responsiveness, and Dinah breathes a sigh of relief when she notices it.

Once the shampoo is rinsed out of Helena’s hair, Helena opens her eyes, and they lock with Dinah’s. The glassiness is gone, replaced by a well of emotion hazed over with exhaustion. 

“I’m right here, baby,” Dinah says softly, and Helena closes her eyes again and leans her head against Dinah’s chest. Dinah rests her chin lightly on Helena’s head, rubbing her fingers over the skin of Helena’s bare shoulder. “I’m right here.”

_I will see your body bare_

_And still I will live here_

Helena’s hands hover over Dinah’s shoulders, trembling slightly; her face is flushed, lips parted and eyes wide and dark, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she asks, “Can I —”

“Of course, baby,” Dinah tells her, leaning up to press a kiss against the line of Helena’s jaw. 

Helena swallows and carefully, delicately, slides the jacket off Dinah’s shoulders, tugs her top over her head and drops it on the floor. She runs her hands over Dinah’s sides and breathes, “You’re beautiful.”

The earnestness in her voice makes Dinah ache, and she slides her hands under Helena’s shirt and up until her fingertips brush the edge of her bra. Helena shivers at the touch, and Dinah instantly draws back. “Too much?”

Helena shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s good. Don’t stop.”

Helena’s shirt joins Dinah’s on the floor, and Dinah drinks in the sight of her — curves and hard edges meeting, pale skin flecked with the occasional dark freckle or silvery scar. She swallows past the sudden lump in her throat and cups Helena’s face in her hands, bringing it down and whispering, so close that their lips brush, “Baby, you’re just gorgeous,” and then Helena’s mouth is on hers, hands pressing at the small of her back, and Dinah knows that words will never be enough to capture this.

_So stay with me_

_Hold my hand_

_There's no need_

_To be brave_

It's a brilliantly sunny day, the first warm day of spring, and Dinah looks at Helena over a breakfast of coffee and toast and says simply, "I'm going for a walk today. Come with?"

"Okay," Helena agrees readily; it will be good for them both to be outside, and Dinah hasn't been quite herself the past few days — there's a lingering melancholy in her eyes, and though Helena isn't sure of its cause, she has her suspicions. 

In midmorning, the sidewalks are humming with life, and Dinah walks with purpose, Helena a half step behind. Their hands brush every so often, and though they don't speak, Helena doesn't mind the quiet. It's enough to just be at Dinah's side. 

"I'll be right out," Dinah tells her once they've gone several blocks, pausing outside a little florist shop, and she emerges a few minutes later holding a large bouquet of daffodils wrapped in paper and tied with ribbon. They continue walking until the buildings fall away and a wrought-iron fence takes their place. 

The cemetery gate is open, but it's mostly devoid of the living apart from a few lone figures. Dinah slows once they're through the gates, almost to a leisurely pace, and as they walk, Helena realizes that she doesn't know where her own family is buried. She wonders if her own name is written on the tomb, if there's an empty casket intended for her somewhere underground. 

They pass a grove of trees, into a shaded area where the noise of the city seems to fall away, and Dinah catches Helena's hand. 

"Give me a minute, alright?"

"Of course," Helena says softly, squeezing her hand, and watches Dinah approach a small, neat granite headstone. She bends to remove a withered bouquet of flowers, replacing it with the fresh one, and rests her fingertips on the stone.

Helena turns away, feeling like an intruder, and wonders if there are flowers on her own mother's grave, on her father's, on Pino's. She doesn't know what kind she'd choose, can't remember what her father would tuck into his lapel before a gala or what kind her mother carried in her wedding bouquet. The realization aches, tightens her throat, and not for the first time, she wishes that she could have had just one more year with them. 

It wouldn't have been enough, not one year or ten or more — she knows that. No matter how long she had, she would always want more. 

"Helena?"

Dinah's voice breaks into her thoughts, and Helena looks up to see her tilt her head in invitation. Helena crosses the grassy slope, coming to a stop at Dinah's side and reading the engraving on the tombstone. 

_Dinah Drake_

_March 21, 1968 - September 3, 2016_

_Beloved mother_

_Hero of Gotham_

"I try to come every week or so, you know?" Dinah says quietly. "Bring flowers, keep it neat. People used to visit, but." She shrugs. "Not much anymore. I thought, since it would have been her birthday, I should do something special." She slides her hand into Helena's. "So I brought you." 

"Thank you." Some indescribable emotion wells up in Helena — gratitude, maybe, that Dinah trusts her in this way.

"She would've liked you a lot," Dinah continues, eyes distant, lost in memory. "I wish you could have met her."

"I do, too." 

There's nothing to say, after that, and when Dinah brushes a tear away, Helena tightens her grip on her hand. 

Dinah rests her head on Helena's shoulder, and they stay like that, side by side in the dappled sunlight.

_And while you sleep_

_I'll be scared_

_So by the time you wake_

_I'll be brave_

“She’s not waking up.”

“Give her time.”

“She’s usually awake by now.”

“I know that, Helena, for Christ’s sake, _stop pacing.”_

Helena forces herself to stop, hands balled in fists at her side. “Something isn’t right. What if —”

“Hey,” Renee interrupts. “No _what if_ s. Her breathing’s fine, her pulse is fine; from the looks of it, she’s just asleep.”

“She’s not fucking _asleep.”_

“I know that!” Renee snaps, then sighs. “I get that you’re worried. Believe me, so am I. But at this point, you just gotta wait it out. Now, I’m gonna take a walk, make sure the GCPD isn’t fucking up the scene too bad. Call me if anything changes, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” Helena’s attention is still drawn to Dinah, who’s lying on their bed, showing no signs of waking.

“Hey.” Renee’s voice goes uncharacteristically soft. “She’s gonna be okay, kid. She ain’t giving up that easy.” 

“I know.”

“Take care of her, alright? And yourself. Get some rest.” Renee gives her a nod and closes the door behind her. 

Helena’s never been good at waiting like this, so she busies herself with simple tasks: setting the kettle to boil for tea, because Dinah’s throat is always sore after she uses her powers; changing out of her gear into clean clothes; washing her face, even though she prefers to shower after a mission, because she doesn’t want to leave Dinah alone for too long. Through it all, she keeps watch — Dinah doesn’t stir, and with every passing moment, the knot of anxiety in her chest draws tighter and tighter. 

When she can’t distract herself any longer, she drags a chair over to the bed and sits. Dinah’s still wearing her rings and bracelets, and Helena carefully removes each piece of jewelry and sets them on the nightstand in neat rows, because it can’t be comfortable for Dinah to sleep with jewelry on. And then —

She doesn’t know what to do.

Helena breathes through the rage simmering in her veins, desperate for an enemy, but there’s nobody to fight. She’s stuck here, useless, and her chest feels tight at the thought that there’s nothing she can do, nothing.

Helena takes Dinah’s hand in her own, holding it tight (but not too tight, because never ever would she want to hurt Dinah), and begs, _Please, God, don’t take her from me. Please, God, I need her._ She stops, uncertain; she’s never been good at that kind of spontaneous prayer, but hopefully it won’t matter much. Helena suddenly recalls a hazy memory of her grandmother, pressing a rosary into her hands on the day of her First Communion and telling her, _When you need help, pray to Our Lady, because a mother always hears her children, yes?_

The rosary is long gone, so Helena counts Hail Marys on her fingers, feeling childish and yet too desperate to stop. It’s a Friday, which means the Sorrowful Mysteries, and Helena makes it to the Crowning with Thorns before sleep takes her too.

In the morning, she wakes to see Dinah smiling at her, looking tired but healthy and whole and brilliant as always, and Helena could drown in the relief that washes over her like a flood.

“Good morning,” Dinah says, voice raspy and hoarse but still the most beautiful sound in the world, and Helena finds that she can breathe again.

_And all the quiet nights you bear_

_Seal them up with care_

_No one needs to know they're there_

_For I will hold them for you_

There’s blood, always so much blood, and Helena is suffocating under the stench of it, under the weight of bodies crumpled on top of her. Glass shatters around her; plaster and wood shards spray through the air, and she’s trapped, helpless, unable to scream or cry for help — but even if she could, there’s nobody to hear —

“Helena.”

She can’t speak, can’t breathe, but there’s a new pressure on her shoulder — a deliberate touch, and it’s pulling her out of the suffocating room and the blood —

“Wake up, baby, you’re dreaming.”

And just like that, her eyes fly open and she sits up fast enough that it makes her dizzy. The lavish, bloody parlor is gone; in its place is their cluttered but cozy bedroom, the sight of which is familiar and comforting. She can breathe, now, and she hauls in huge gulps of air until her lungs burn. There’s no weight across her chest, just a gentle touch rubbing circles between her shoulderblades.

 _Dinah,_ Helena realizes, and she hadn’t registered how tense every muscle in her body had been until now. She deliberately relaxes, slowing her breathing in the hopes that her heartbeat will follow suit. 

“Good, that’s good. You with me?”

Helena nods, focusing on the little details of the room to ground herself. The room is dim, but she can see the sketches Dinah’s pinned to the walls and the photographs tucked around the edges of the mirror — of the two of them, mostly, but there are a few that include Renee, Cass, and Harley. She rubs the fabric of the comforter between two fingers, concentrating on the feel of it, and listens for the sound of late-night traffic on the street below. Most of all, she focuses on the weight of Dinah’s hand on her back, its gentleness, its steady presence. 

“Glass of water, babe?”

Helena doesn’t want to lose Dinah’s touch on her back, her presence by her side, but she knows it will help. “Yes, please,” she says, wincing at the roughness of her voice.

“Be right back.” The mattress dips and rises, and Helena tracks the sound of Dinah’s footsteps into the bathroom and back to her side. 

“Thanks.” She accepts the water gratefully, drinking half of it in two swallows and pausing before finishing it off. Dinah takes the empty glass and sets it on the nightstand.

“Doing alright? Want to lie down?”

Now that the adrenaline’s worn off, Helena feels the weight of tiredness seeping back into her bones, and she sinks back against the pillows, closer to Dinah’s side of the bed than she had been before.

Dinah lies down again, too, draping an arm over Helena’s stomach. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m alright,” Helena answers, and she’s finding that it’s becoming more true with every passing moment. “It was the same as usual.”

Dinah hums in understanding; she’s become familiar with Helena’s roster of nightmares over the past few months, and Helena knows Dinah’s too. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to Helena’s shoulder.

“Not your fault,” Helena replies, as she always does. “It helps. That you’re here, I mean.”

It’s true — Helena had spent years waking alone in a cold sweat; she’d learned to stay quiet, to bring herself back to reality without any help. It’s different, now that she has Dinah — easier to recenter herself, to let the memories of blood and death dissipate like smoke, to fall asleep again wrapped in Dinah’s arms. The dreams themselves have become rarer with each passing week, and Helena wonders if there will come a day when they vanish entirely. 

“Good. I’m glad,” Dinah tells her now. “Go back to sleep, baby, you’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

It makes Helena’s heart ache, but in the best way, and she shifts a bit so that she’s on her side, allowing Dinah to move closer and press herself against Helena’s back, draping an arm over her side and tucking her face in the crook of Helena’s neck. She murmurs something against Helena’s skin — “I’ve got you,” maybe — and punctuates it with another kiss. Helena closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep again, safe in the warmth of Dinah’s presence. 

_'Cause all I ever wanted is here_

_All I ever wanted_

_All I want is_

_Always you_

_It's always you_

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ this post](https://mulletfangs.tumblr.com/post/615572333599555584/writers-of-bop-fandom-please-write-dinahelena-i) and [ this art](https://mulletfangs.tumblr.com/post/615604173876166656/mulletfangs-i-will-mitski-and-were-not-out-of) by mulletfangs on tumblr.


End file.
